This is War
by Phoenixian
Summary: Random short Nikita oneshots of all genres and with all major characters. Basically whatever pops into my head because of my obsession. "We're at war. Bad things happen during war. No one knows that better than us." Possible spoilers.
1. Reflection

**Hey guys. Nikita is probably my favorite show of all time, I just know I'll never be able to do it justice, but I don't know how else to survive the week between episodes (this season it has become especially difficult. SO INTENSE) so hopefully this helps me some. I don't have the time or patience to commit to a full length story so I'll be doing oneshots, mostly with Nikita and Michael, but with all the other awesome characters too. Oneshots will be completely random, including the timeline. Also this will cover many genres, from cheesy to epic, cause I love everything when it comes to Nikita. All relationships will be canon, as Michael and Alex should never be together(among others)! Sorry to uncanon shippers but no! Reviews are very much appreciated, thanks. Enjoy! **

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******This first one is kind of a reflective Nikita piece after the events of the last couple of episodes. Spoilers if you aren't up to date on the show. I.e. Michael needs to learn to shoot left handed if you know what I mean...if you don't then you have some catching up to do and you won't want to read this right now.  
**

She was the one who always saw it coming, who could stay one step ahead of everyone else at all times. It was how she had kept herself alive for years, all alone in an empty loft, save for a computer and a gun…or a dozen. It was how most of the people she loved were still alive and standing next to her. She saw it coming…except for this, which made it that much more painful, like a knife in the gut that kept twisting and burying itself deeper beneath her skin. Maybe their confidence had gotten the better of them. Maybe they had walked away clean one too many times. Eventually someone always has to pay the price.

For the briefest of moments they had been happy, she had felt it, believed in it. She even had the ring to prove it, to bring back the memories of the smiles and the quiet mornings when they were able to forget everything and for just a moment feel like normal people with normal lives. Then, inevitably, her life had spun out of control and turned upside down as it always did when things were going well, pinning the smiles and normalcy and Michael's hand beneath it. It was the nature of the life, and it was just what Amanda wanted.

He had told her to leave him, that he wanted her to live, but she couldn't do it, she was dead without him, so she had made a choice in that moment, and he could hate her forever, but it was better than picking pieces of him up off the highway. She had hurt him, saved his life but still hurt him, and now he was hurting her back, pulling away, tearing them apart. After everything they had gotten through together the other side of her bed was empty again, and everything and everyone seemed colder and more distant, as though there was once again a barrier up between her and the rest of the world. Even when he looked at her or smiled it was different, sad, and she knew that it couldn't go back to what it was, that he would probably never look at her the way he used to, as though she was his whole world, the same way that she felt about him and the reason she had found the strength to raise the knife and bring it back down again.

A month ago they had staged a fight for Amanda's benefit, but now the fights were real and Amanda really was winning, without even knowing it, and all she felt was regret, remembering her noble little speech as she had stood over a woman she had once trusted, with a gun in her hand, and she had felt strong when she hadn't pulled the trigger even when she had every reason too; for Daniel, for Birkhoff and Alex and Michael, for herself and for every other life that division and Amanda had ruined. What did it mean now, wishing every moment that she had, just so her fiancé could have his other hand back and she could smile again when he made a joke, or kissed her, or wrapped his arms around her at the end of a long day, or folded his fingers through hers, real or fake?

For years she had felt strong, had drawn that strength from knowing that she was fighting back, until it really mattered. Now, she missed the numbness that drugs had once offered her against her imposing life. She missed being numb, but she missed Michael more, she just didn't know which one would be easier to get back.

Her heart was slowly breaking, and she didn't know how long she could hold it together before she fell apart completely. She didn't even know if it would matter, or if he would notice.


	2. Reckless

**So this is the first part of what was originally going to be a two part story in my series of oneshots, but this story has now moved as I want to develop it further. You can find it in my stories, now called 'The Fracture' and more chapters should be up pretty soon, I'm working on it. So if you like this one, go check it out :)  
**

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"Birkhoff, where's Owen?"

She let go of his headphones, letting them snap back into place painfully before he had the chance to pull them off and discard them among the collection of empty cans and wrappers on the desk in front of him. It was all part of his process and though it had taken some time, the uptight government types who had taken over were finally learning that. It was one of his personal side projects to get Fletcher to pull the stick out of his ass. Other than that he liked the guy.

"Um…Bali?" He looked to Sonya for confirmation, then frowned. "You know this already. We caught that lead on Amanda's location and he went to check it out, remember? The briefing was yesterday…"

She nodded impatiently. "Right…and has Ryan cleared Alex for the field yet? Where is he anyway?" she demanded. Birkhoff cocked his head, watching her pace and bounce on the balls of her feet.

"Fletcher's in D.C, I'm assuming at some kind of top secret government type meeting. Gotta love not being the boss, right?...right. Should be back soon though. And no, Alex is still out of commission… Driving her crazy too, by the state of the bag downstairs…are you alright Niki?" he asked with rare genuine concern as she stared at him, barely focused, eyes diminished by the dark circles they were buried in. "You seem…restless…and tired…when was the last time you slept?.."

Nikita gave a false, harsh chuckle and turned on her heel, headed to the end of the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised at the abrupt end to their conversation.

"To do my job Birkhoff," she replied, exasperated, waving a hand over her shoulder in farewell. "Stay on the coms."

"What do I tell Mikey if he asks where you went?" he called after her.

"He won't," she snapped over her shoulder, and then she was gone, leaving him extremely apprehensive. Sometimes he missed the agent trackers, if only for his own comfort. He was seriously considering planting some on certain people, for his own personal use only of course... maybe imbed one in Michael's robot hand the next time he worked on it. Couldn't hurt. Nikita would be more difficult. Even her ring came off when she was on a mission. He would have to think of something really good. Cell phones and coms were never a guarantee. Not in his world.

888

"So? How's Bali buddy?" he asked over the headset. Are those waves I hear?"

Owen's voice came back crystal clear.

"I'm not exactly here for the sun and sand Birkhoff…and no, that would be rain. You really have no idea what you're missing here."

"Bummer."

"Ya. Hey, listen, I told Nikita I'd call with an update today. I think I may actually be on to something here though I might just be paranoid… time will tell. Mind getting her and the others together for a briefing? I could really use some more heads on this." The line cut out for a second but was back up in an instant. No distance or bad weather was about to beat his tech.

"I can do all of that except for Niki. She's gone off the farm…"

"Well that doesn't sound good. Hey, how's she doing?"

"She's Nikita…so, honestly…"

"You have no clue?"

"Exactly." His screen lit up in front of him, flashing Nikita's file photo.

"Listen, I've gotta put you on hold, I've got Niki coming through on the coms."

"How about I call back tonight instead, I have plenty to keep me busy…Michael and Ryan know Nikita's on her own?"

"Not exactly.."

"Tell them," he said, "She's been on her own plenty, but it's a different division now, she doesn't need to do this alone, especially not now. Besides, I think she could use a bit more than tech support right now…no offense," he said, and the line was cut off.

"None taken," Birkhoff said to no one as he clicked on with Nikita.

"Niki. Could have used a heads up on the mission if you're looking for tech support here."

"It's fine Birkhoff," she said through mild static, which seemed odd after talking to Owen clearly from the other side of the world. "I just need you to pull up some blueprints for me. Yeah?"

"You gonna share what you're up to or is that need to know?.. Though I probably am going to need to know in order to pull up the blueprints of wherever you are right now… I don't suppose this is actually a sanctioned mission or anything…"

"Birkhoff," she cut in in a pacifying voice. "It's fine. I'm just looking into-"

There was a splitting buzz, making him pull back and put his hands over his ears even though it didn't help due to his use of headphones. He then heard Nikita's voice say "Birkhoff?" and he didn't think he was imagining the panic, though it could have been his own.

"Niki! NIKITA!" he practically shouted into the headpiece, perfectly aware that if she was still on the other end he still wouldn't be getting through to her. "NIKITA!

"Birkhoff!"

His head snapped up from his computer screens. He hadn't noticed Michael and Ryan come in, but by the looks on both faces they hadn't missed much.

"Where is she Birkhoff?!" Michael demanded in a strangled voice, twisting his hand around the metal substitute. "What the hell is going on?"

"I…I don't know."


	3. Consequences

**Hey guys, so I got a completely amazing and unexpected response to this story. Thanks for all the great reviews, I am so happy. Apparently I'm not the only one whose going crazy lately waiting for each new episode :) So most of you reviewed for chapter 2: Reckless (the oneshot that I said would have two parts) but because of the awesome response I think I want to develop this story further, so I'm making it into it's own story and should have the second chapter up asap. It will be called The Fracture and hopefully you all know where to find it. I'll leave the first chapter on here as part of this series of oneshots but please go find the actual story to read the rest that should be coming soon. Thanks again for all the amazing support. You guys are awesome!**

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He arrived seconds after they wheeled the bed into the room, stared down at his fiancé with wide eyes, and rounded on Owen more furiously than Alex had ever seen him.

"What the hell happened?!" He shouted at the other agent, surprising everyone in the room. "You were supposed to have her back! You were there to make sure something like this didn't happen!"

Michael's robotic hand closed around Owen's bicep, shoving him back against the wall. To Owen's credit, he didn't try to fight back, letting Michael take his anger out on him.

"Michael!" Alex tried, grabbing his shoulder, but he shook her off, ignoring her attempt to restore peace.

"She was distracted Michael," Owen answered his accusation in kind, voice cold, "She took a bullet because she was distracted…Why do you think that is?" He let his gaze fall to the metal hand that was trapping him against the wall, then back up to Michael's face. "You want someone to blame, look in the mirror."

"Owen,"Alex tried desperately, glancing at Birkhoff for support, but he was focused on Nikita, unconscious on the hospital bed, then turned again to separate them, and this time, Michael let his hands fall and took a step back, expression blank.

"Ok," Alex said in relief. "Guys…"

She motioned to Owen who glared at Michael for a moment longer in some male demonstration, then followed her to the door. Birkhoff came with them, looking slightly dazed. As the door closed behind her, Alex looked back to see Michael on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say before he was blocked from her view.


	4. Small

It's something you first noticed when she was just a recruit sleeping on one of the shitty cots in a cold room off the main hall. It's something she did when she was sleeping alone; curling up into a ball, pillows and blankets piled around her like a nest or a fortress, protecting herself and making her look so small, hiding all the power that was so evident when she was awake, when her eyes alone gave away just how much soul and how much fight there was inside of her in spite of everything.

You don't think it's a conscious think, just one her little ways of putting up walls, protecting herself even when she's at someone else's mercy like she was back then, her entire self held together by a thread, keeping everything inside. You helped her tear down those walls, but it's clear she's starting to build them back up again. It's your fault and you know it, but you don't try and fix it because you have other things on your mind, drawing you away from her.

She might have come far from those days, you both have, but she's started to do it again anyway, because you aren't there and she's beginning to feel powerless and small again, even in her own bed in an apartment that you picked out together on a day when the sun was shining and you could both see your future, maybe even forgetting for a moment what your lives were really made of, or that happiness was a luxury that no one could really ever afford or achieve, at least not the way you live your lives. It's almost worse for her there then it ever was back in division, because while that place was never anything but hell for her, this place is full of hope and love that has turned cold and angry, mocking her with every detail of your lives together.

You promised her you would teach her to love herself the way you love her, but somehow you've gotten lost along the way, and she has to wonder if you'll ever find your way back. You've fought for each other, hard, but the fight has gone out of you and she knows it and no matter how hard she tries, she can't be the one to fix it.

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**Really short one this time, but the whole Nikita and Michael thing is making me crazy, especially when he walks away at the end of tonight's new episode, go watch it if you haven't, it is totally awesome. Next week's looks awesome too though, and like it might have a happy ending for once. This show just keeps getting better and better! So excited, don't wanna wait! See you all again soon :)**

**P.s I'll try to write some happy ones soon, I'm just having trouble getting over what's going on right now, but I guess I have to move on eventually.  
**


	5. Lost

"Is this what you want Michael?" she demanded, surprising both of them. She yanked the ring from her left hand and set it down forcefully on the table between them, barely holding herself together.

They both stared down at in shock, the elephant that had lived between them for months suddenly right out in the open where they couldn't ignore it..

She was openly crying, torn apart by the acceptance that this might be the end, that the one person she had lived for was gone. Maybe this meant that Amanda had won, because the pain it caused her was greater than anything she had ever felt or imagined. There was no bullet or bomb that could tear her apart so badly. This was her very heart and soul being torn in two. Being alive didn't matter anymore.

"Don't be so dramatic, Nikita," he said coldly. "What are you doing?" He was frozen across from her, staring at the ring that in one moment had come to represent everything that they had ever been or could ever be, just as it had in the moment that he had slid it onto her finger.

"What am I doing?" she repeated with a manic laugh, done with the pretense and the fear of losing him when she already had. "I am asking you decide whether you're finished with me," she told him. Harsh words, but the question that had been on her mind for months. "I am asking you if we can ever be what we were, and if you want to? You turned your back on me just when I thought we were strong enough to get through anything together. I don't know how to come back from that Michael, and I don't really think that you want to. Tell me...Have I lost you completely?"

They didn't look at each other, but continued to stare at the ring, to talk to it so that they could avoid the pain in the other person's eyes.

"What do you want me to say Nikita?" he asked, "What do you want?," and he only sounded tired, burnt out, distant.

She sagged under his question, after everything, still expecting more from him. And she finally let her eyes meet his, searching them for something that had been lost to her for a long time.

"Say whatever you want," she snapped at him. "Tell me the truth for once." She paused, and took a deep shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around her thin body, holding herself together. "And what do I want? I want the Michael that I love, the traditional guy who went through hell to get this ring, the one who loved me enough to tell me to leave him under a car so I could live, hoping I would but knowing I wouldn't. I want the Michael who found that necklace under Liza's bed because he cared about his recruits and confronted Alex about her relapse because he wanted to help her get clean again. I want the Michael who would have done the same thing I did were the situation reversed. I cut off your hand, not your head or your heart, so I want to believe that that Michael is still in there somewhere, but at the same time I think he might have died under that car after all."

Her words cut deep, as she meant them to. Michael reached out and picked up the ring, remembering the day that he had picked it out, had decided that it was perfect for her, for them. He had felt so light, but even giving it to her had ended up being an operation in itself. Still, they had made it through, and down on one knee he had felt the kind of love he had thought was lost with Hailey and Elizabeth.

"That Michael also had two hands and could shoot a clip through this ring from 300 yards," he told her sadly. Broken, Nikita collapsed into a chair. Michael rounded the table to stand in front of her. "But you're right," he said, "He is in here, he's just under repair. He hopes you're wrong about not coming back from this, cause he really is trying to move past it," he told her. "And when that happens he's going to have a lot to make up for and he hopes that you can forgive him someday."

He reached down, unfolding one of the fists that had formed in her lap, and placed the ring inside it.

"Just don't give up on him yet."

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**Ok, ok, I know this one isn't happy either, but I had to get it out cause it was bumming me out and I wanna forget about it. But yes, I will have happier ones, also I will have oneshots with other characters and possibly at other times, depending on what comes to mind. Btw, it's awesome getting requests from people, and if you sent me one I will do it, just as soon as I work out what I want to do for it, so keep 'em coming. Thanks guys!**


	6. Home

**Yay, a happy one! I think I surprised myself, lol. This one is set right after season two, after taking over division and Michael and Nikita finally get an apartment that they don't have to share with Birkhoff...  
**

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The place was basically barren, empty of furniture or food, or anything else that was needed to turn a place into a home, not that she knew what that was, because this was the first home she could ever remember having really, other places swimming in her mind, a mass of houses and lofts and prison cells and beach houses and underground rooms, some even with the same dark chestnut floor under her feet and large beckoning windows that welcomed the sunlight. Yet none of them had ever been home.

"So, what do you think?" Michael asked. She turned. He was leaning against the doorframe, smiling a crooked smile as he watched her, one eyebrow raised.

She laughed.

"I think I'm having flashbacks of the day you took me to my first apartment when I made agent and it's creeping me out so stop it."

He didn't stop it, but crossed to her instead. "Does it feel like it could be your home?" he asked he, putting his arms around her, gazing out over the city.

"As long as you're here too Michael," she replied softly, "You're my real home, so we can live anywhere as long as were together." She paused. "It's not quite as fabulous as my loft though," she said with a false sad sigh.

"Yeah, well try not to blow this one up," he chuckled into her hair, "And I'm not going anywhere, Nikita." She leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling more at peace than she had in a long time. When she raised her head again he was still watching her.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you think of the place?"

It was Michael's turn to laugh.

"Well, I think it's a huge improvement that our home doesn't double as an ops centre or a way station for rogue agents. I particularly enjoy having Birkhoff living somewhere else, as much as I like the guy... Honestly though, I'm having some trouble focusing on the apartment at all. It's been a few days since we've been alone for more than five minutes."

She shrugged. "I think that's what happens when you take over a secret government agency…but does that mean you didn't notice the fabulous linoleum...thingies in the kitchen?" she asked, kissing him. "…Or the mahogany…whatchamacallit…in the bedroom?" she continued, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Oh I definitely noticed the bedroom," he informed her, "But you have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" he asked against her throat.

"None whatsoever…"

"Good."

"Should I shut up then?" she asked innocently between breathes.

"Yes."


	7. Crushed

**Alex finally gets a word in on the Nikita/Michael/hand situation. Enjoy! Will be moving on from the hand soon and will have some action coming up too!**

* * *

"So you've turned Birkhoff's old place into your lair?" Alex asked, flipping the pages of a folder absentmindedly before discarding it back on top of the teetering pile it had come from. Michael barely glanced up from the computer.

"I guess you could say that…you need something?" he asked, scribbling on the crowded notepad, scrolling through pages of redacted information that seemed to contain very little actual content considering the thick black lines between all the "ands" and "thes".

"No, mommy and daddy are fighting again and I thought it was in my best interest to stay out of the way. If the world is ending again I'd rather not know about it." She pushed some classified documents out of her way and slid onto the edge of the desk, swinging her legs, clicking her heel again the desk leg.

He finally glanced her way, distracted. "Mommy and Daddy?"

She shrugged. "Nikita and Ryan."

Michael's brow furrowed but his focus had was back on the screen in front of him, maneuvering the mouse with his metal hand, using the real one to type at the keyboard.

"Michael?"

"Look through these?" he said, passing her a file overflowing with surveillance photos of people and places she had never seen before.

"What am I looking for?"

"I don't know yet."

She shuffled through them for a moment, looking for anything that jumped out, like aliens or an assassin with crazy eyes and a grenade launcher, but without more information they were mostly just faces and suits, with the occasional building or over watered lawn. She let them fall back to the desk.

"Michael?" she tried again, ignoring the intense amount of focus he had directed at the screen in front of him. "You think you're ever going to stop blaming Nikita?" she asked softly.

This was the first thing she had said that had really gotten his attention, though he certainly did his best not to show it. His metal hand ground to life, tightening unconsciously on the mouse, and she was sure she heard the plastic crack beneath it. She pretended not to notice, watching his face.

"I don't blame her Alex. It happened, and now I'm going to figure out how to fix it. Everything is fine," he said, brushing off her question. It didn't impress her. Once she would have left it at that, but she wasn't a recruit anymore. They had known each other long enough and been through enough that a real conversation wasn't off the table, and the equal ground meant that she didn't have to keep her mouth shut.

"No," she said. "It's not. God Michael, she went to Kosovo solo because she was trying to fix this. If I hadn't come back when I did no one would have known where she was and there's no way to know how things might have turned out. It was so personal for her. She could easily have been killed."

Michael rubbed a hand over his face. He obviously hadn't slept or shaved in days and he looked awful. She caught sight of the beaten up couch where Birkhoff had once spent his free time playing video games. She was guessing it was where Michael had been sleeping, and other than Kosovo she had to wonder when he had last left the bunker.

"It isn't possible to kill Nikita easily. Trust me, I tried for years, and we both know how that worked out."

Alex ignored the light comment. "She did it for you, Michael! She's trying to bring you back, and she's not going to stop unless it kills her! What's wrong with you that you can let her do this! After everything you two have been through together…I know how important this is to you, but how can it be more important than Nikita? She loves you Michael, and you're crushing her!"

His hands curled into fists on the desk in front of him. Alex stood and headed for the door, frustrated at his lack of response and his apparent inability to grasp what she was trying to get through to him.

"Alex," he said, and when she looked back he had left his station and moved to the center of the room, looking lost and smaller than she could ever remember him.

She rounded on him, arms crossed, possibly to stop herself from burying her fist in her mentor's face, she was so irritated with him.

"Michael, do you remember what you told me when I relapsed? You said that it would hurt Nikita most of all! I didn't forget that, it's how I found the strength to get clean again, because I know how much pain and how much love she feels for the people she cares about! You reminded me of that! Those were your words! And what do you think you're doing now? How much worse do you think she feels having to cut off your hand to save your life, then losing you because of it, having to live with that? After everything you've been through together? I promise you that this hurts her most of all, Michael, and she doesn't need you tearing her apart too, she gets more than enough of that!"

She felt herself chocking on the words. "You've become unrecognizable, the old Michael never would have treated Nikita like this! You were supposed to be the one to save her, not the one to destroy her, " she added desperately, relieved to finally tell him what she had been thinking and get it off her chest. He stared back at her in shock as though she had put a bullet in him.

"I'm doing the best I can Alex," he snapped back at her, "You have no idea what this feels like. I don't know how to get past this," he told her, indicating the piles of files and books and the computer behind him, displaying a picture of the mad scientist Nikita had been forced to shoot before they got the information Michael could have used to get his hand back. "I need to figure this out. I need to get my hand back," he continued. "Nikita doesn't have to like it, and neither do you, but this is what I have to do to move on."

On another screen, Amanda's file displayed her image, and Alex had to look away, her hatred so strong that it made her nauseous. She had no idea how she had once turned to Amanda for help, relied on her… but she was beginning to understand.

"I get it now, Michael," she told him. "This place…Division, Percy, Amanda… it's all a disease that slowly eats away at everything good until there's nothing left, no hope, no love, no happiness. Nikita was right all along, it's hell…but you're just letting it beat you, and you're not even putting up a fight! You were willing to die for her, would you have preferred that? Is your hand really worth more to you than Nikita?"

He opened his mouth but quite possibly for the first time since they had met he didn't seem to know what to say or was holding himself back from saying what he really wanted to. His expression was pained but otherwise unreadable. She was glad to see that her words seemed to have gotten through to him in some way.

The door opened at her back and Sean appeared with a smile that quickly faded when he noticed the seriousness in their demeanor and the way they were facing off across the room.

"Birkhoff said I might be able to find you down here," he told her carefully, glancing between them. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

She let her arms fall to her sides, forcing herself to breath.

"Ya, it's fine," she lied, "I wanna go home now," she told him, turning away from Michael with one last glance. "Can we go?" she said, moving past him towards the door. She left Michael standing in the middle of the room. She needed her words to have gotten through to him. If division could tear Michael and Nikita apart then what couldn't it destroy?

Ok…" Sean said uneasily, glancing at Michael before trailing after her.

He had to hustle to catch up with her in the hall.

"How do you walk so damn fast in such high heels?" he asked. She couldn't help but give him a small smile, slowing to a normal walking pace.

"What was that about back there?" he asked her, catching her arm to focus her attention.

"Men!" she snapped in frustration.

"Excuse me?" he asked, honestly confused.

She finally turned to him, still several inches shorter despite the heels. She met his confusion with a kiss for her own reassurance. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"I just want everything to be the way it's supposed to be," she told him with a sigh.

He brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "Things like this are hard on everybody," he told her, "But everything is going to be fine. They're strong enough to get through this," he added, knowing exactly what she had been referring to. Just the way he was looking at her and the softness in his eyes was reassuring in itself.

"Promise?" she demanded, wanting more.

"Alex…" he started, frowning. She leaned her head into his shoulder with a sigh. Everytime things seemed to be going well they started spinning out of control all over again. It was the nature of her lifestyle and she had long since accepted that but it still hurt and it was making her dizzy.

"I promise," he said.

* * *

**So more talking, kinda both happy and sad. More happy soon, as well as some desperately needed action that I realize there hasn't been much of in this story so far but I promise there will be, just been busier than I would have liked and haven't gotten around to all the ideas I wanted to get done. Will also fulfill requests sometime soon and will move on from Michael's hand, it's just been such a big part of the storyline recently that it's hard to forget about. Next week's episode looks like it's going to be Sean centric though and I'm really excited!**


	8. 8 days

She was in the ammunitions room when he finally did come looking for her. It was funny really, as it was the only place where they had ever had anything resembling an honest conversation back in the days when she was an agent and he was…well…Michael. She didn't even glance up when she heard him coming, but she knew it was him, heard it in his footsteps and felt him in the air, but she didn't look up, afraid that any sudden movements might scare him away. She fumbled with the clip in her hands, pressing another bullet into the chamber and running her thumb over the cold metal.

"Nikita."

He had rounded the table, but still stood at a safe, polite distance, the distance of strangers.

"Is there a briefing?" she asked. She didn't know why else he would be there.

"Did you know it's been about a week since we've spoken outside of briefings?" he asked her, ignoring the question. She couldn't read his tone. Her hand constricted around the gun she was holding. She shoved the clip into its base and set the unit on the table, curling one hand into a fist until her nails dug into her palm.

"Eight days actually," she informed him.

"Nikita.." He sounded almost as tired as she felt, just completely exhausted by life. "Are you alright?" his voice was hesitant, strained, as if he had forgotten how to be this person that he really was.

She wasn't usually one for sarcasm, but it was too easy.

"Ya," she said, "I'm great. This is exactly how I was hoping my life would be going right now."

"Eight days," he said quietly.

"You told me to leave you alone, remember?" she said, a little too sharply, "Loudly, and more than once. So this is me…leaving you alone." She turned back to what she was doing and began stripping her weapon again rather forcefully.

Michael reached out and removed the pieces from her hands, turning her towards him. When he still said nothing, she broke the silence on her own.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say to you Michael. You don't want my help, you don't want my pity, you don't seem to want to me to feel sad, or guilty, or anything about this at all. But I don't know how to not care about this, I don't, and if it was the other way around you would feel exactly the same way, so I'd love to know…how am I supposed to feel after cutting off my fiancés hand? What am I supposed to do other than try to make things better? What do you want me to do and say right now? Because I'm all out of ideas so I don't know what you want."

She looked up at him, searching for an answer, but he just shook his head, sad and possibly a little bewildered.

"You were going to die, Michael.. you were willing to die… you wanted me to let you die…but I couldn't…I couldn't let that happen, not like that, and I don't ever expect you to thank me, I don't ever want that…You can hate me forever if you have to, I don't care…I don't…as long as you're still alive then I can live with it…somehow, but this just hurts too much Michael, so please just tell me…what do you want?"

She stopped talking and shut her eyes, suddenly aware that she was clutching the front of his shirt in her fists, that she had broken the polite distance that he had been maintaining between them, or perhaps he had broken it first, she didn't really know.

"Nikita." His voice was pacifying. She opened her eyes as he gently unwound her fingers from his shirt. Her heart fell a little more, but then he had put his arms around her and she remembered how good it felt just to have him hold her.

"Eight days is too long," he said into her hair. " I want to come home. Everything else can wait."

* * *

**Yay! They finally made up!...In my head, but it's something...:(**


	9. Morning After

She woke all at once, senses on high alert before her eyes were even open, assessing the atmosphere and the feeling that had woke her. She relaxed just as quickly, with the warmth of early morning sun, physical comfort and memories of the night before offering credence to her sense of security.

"You're watching me sleep."

"Yes."

He came into focus as she slit her eyes against the light, catching his lazy smile and the way his hair was mussed from sleep, face rough with stubble. It was the first time she had seen him this way in months, and she reached out to him instinctively, as though he might not be real. Propped up on one elbow, he took her hand in his and kissed it, running a thumb over her knuckles and the shining engagement ring. She hadn't been able to bring herself to take it off, and still didn't know where their relationship stood or if she should be wearing it, yet somehow it didn't seem to matter as his fingers slid through hers.

"If you weren't sleeping you could have at least made coffee," she told him sleepily, stretching stiff limbs under the cool sheets.

He smiled again. "Sorry, I'm still not used to it just being the two of us. Birkhoff would always have the caffeine going hours before we were awake…" he said, and she felt the twinge of tension as he trailed off. It had been the same when he had come back from London, which seemed like so long ago, hesitation after forgetting what had happened even for a moment, wondering how the other would respond. This was infinitely more complicated than that, no matter the difference you might see between a little boy and a hand, it had become so much more, and besides, after so much time, it seemed only right that Max was out there somewhere, young and happy, living his life, and that no matter what happened to them, what happened to his father, that wasn't about to change.

The two of us… she had been alone in their apartment for two months, remembering the day they had walked through the door and decided that this could be their home, their escape from the lives that possessed them, a place where guns were stashed away for easy access but still out of sight, while they could take their clothes off in the kitchen if they felt like it, laughing because there was no Birkhoff or Alex or Owen to walk in on them. For two months she had haunted the place on her own, spending as little time there as possible, mourning what she had lost as if Michael was dead and not just absent. His clothes had still hung in the closet, shoes jumbled where he had last kicked them off near the door, spare sidearm next to her own, laundry in the hamper and coffee mug still sitting on the table where it had sat for weeks until she had gotten frustrated with herself and finally moved it to the sink.

Now, he was there again, looking at her, head cocked, eyes dark, close enough that she could feel the heat that radiated from his skin, and all she wanted was to forget about all of it, while his new metal hand ensured that neither of them would ever be able to put it from their minds.

And finally she did the one thing that had been so easy, but that she hadn't been able to do in so long, curling her fingers into his hair and drawing him closer. He kissed her back and she felt the tension fade as they eased back into the way things were meant to be, that they had fought so hard for and almost lost so many times. Now, right here, they had it back, if only for a moment.

She padded after him into the kitchen some time later, watching him move easily around their living space, giving it life and color again, drawing back the drapes and letting the light in, cutting through dust and shadows.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her, noticing the way her eyes followed his movements. He placed a mug of hot coffee in front of her, brushing his hand over her hair with one hand, an old habit, and she didn't notice whether it was his real hand or his robotic one as he leaned over and kissed her on the head.

"Starving."

"Then I guess I should probably feed you."

"My hero, " she said, hiding her smile with her mug, sipping hot coffee that seemed to taste a lot better than it had the day before.

Michael chuckled. "When was the last time you bought groceries?" he asked her, moving aside so she could see the empty abyss that was the inside of the refrigerator.

"When was the last time _you _bought groceries?" she asked in answer. He shot her a sardonic look, sniffing at a nearly empty carton of milk that was the sole occupant of the fridge. He made a face, and dropped the whole thing into the sink.

"Hey," she said, shrugging, "Maybe you didn't notice it while we were doing the whole ninja nomad bit, but I don't know how to cook, or shop," she said unapologetically, "I guess there are some things division might have considered adding to their curriculum."

"Apparently," he said, eyebrow raised. He stole her coffee and downed the rest. "And since I can't make anything with water and spoiled milk we're going to have to go out for breakfast, and pick up a few things on our way home."

Nikita groaned, glancing at the clock, the only part of the stove that had ever been of use to her personally.

"We don't have time, we have to get to work." There was nothing she wanted more than to spend the day with Michael, talk to him without the wall that he had built up between them for so long, maybe spend the day in bed. There was no part of her that was eager for the endless hours of strategy and procedure and talking Ryan into ops that he thought were too risky. She didn't feel like getting shot at or shooting at anyone else, and she had no desire to come face to face with another of the dirty thirty. Not today, when she was happy again for the first time in ages and everything felt delicate and new again. Maybe tomorrow.

"No," he said, leaning in. "I told Ryan we weren't coming in today." He smiled. "We need this."

She didn't argue.


End file.
